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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


ChapTB-Z.^ Copyright No. 

Shelf-j-GrJ^jL ©*“ 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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THE OLD 

GRAHAM PLACE 


8Y / 

ETTA M. GARDNER 

A* 


# 


THE 

Hbbey press 

PUBLISHERS 

114 

FIFTH AVENUE 

Condon NEW YORK lHontrcal 

L' 



Library of Conpr<J‘>*i 

Two Copies Rece' v:; > 

JAN 12 1901 

n Copyright entry 

/ 7 €C 

*&..$.£$.?$... 

SECOND COPY 


YZ-3 


Copyright, 1900, 

by 

THE 

Bbbey press 




A; 


The Old Graham Place 


One pleasant April morning Mrs. Ruth 
Nevill, whose home was in the small but aris- 
tocratic city of L , in eastern New Hamp- 

shire, set out on a tour of marketing. Her 
old friend, Mr. Jerry Jones, had kept a grocery 
store on Main Street for many years; to this 
place she directed her steps. 

Being a veteran in the service, he was skilled 
in all its maneuvers. So eloquently would he 
descant upon the various food preparations in 
his stock, that the purchaser would be inclined 
thereafter to class eating as a fine art along 
with music, literature, painting and sculpture. 

A tired housekeeper who had wrestled with 

9 


The Old Graham Place. 


the vexed problem of three meals a day until 
the seams in her forehead had deepened into 
veritable ruts, would smile serenely as she 
surveyed his front windows; for here, in the 
finest of Oriental bowls were artistically dis- 
played samples of choice teas, coffees and 
spices in bewildering variety. It was a dream 
of the East — a breeze, wafting “Sabean odors 
from the spicy shore of Araby the Blest/’ In 
some indefinable way these things appealed to 
her sense of the ideal in home life and weari- 
ness was charmed away as if by magic. 

Mr. Jones was also past-master in the art 
of tying up packages. He always had just 
enough paper and not one jot too much string; 
(for this was previous to the innovation of 
paper bags) and when completed, the sides and 
angles were as perfect as if they had been 
moulded. He had just put the finishing touch 
to a package of tea as Mrs. Nevill entered. 

“Good mornin’, Ruth,” said he in his usual 

to 


The Old Graham Place. 


familiar manner. “What can we do for you 
this mornin’ ?’’ 

“Really, Uncle Jerry, I was so attracted by 
your display of nice things in the windows that 
I was on the point of forgetting everything 
else," replied Mrs. Nevill, with animation. “I 
would like to have you send up two pounds of 
that same brand of Mocha that we had last 
month. It was very delicious. And then — 
well, I’ll give you the rest of my order on my 
return from the post-office/' said she, saunter- 
ing toward the door. 

“By the way, Ruth," said Mr. Jones, in- 
quiringly, “James told me yisterday that he 
was talkin’ o’ buyin’ the ole Graham place." 

“Yes," replied she, anxiously; “and now I 
will give you the most important part of my 
errand. I want you to persuade Jamie to 
abandon that plan. He values your opinion 
so highly that I think you will succeed, if it is 
not already too late. I can’t endure the 
ft 


The Old Graham Place. 


thought of living in the house for a single day 
— it’s such an old rookery of a place. The 
agent who has the disposal of it says it was 
built thirty years ago.” 

“Thirty year ago!” exclaimed Mr. Jones. 
“Why, I lived in it myself nigh onto thirty 
year ago. It’s bin b’ilt all of fifty year, if it 
has a day. I bo’t it of ole Widder Fox; she 
bo’t it of Deacon Simms ; the deacon bo’t it of 
Grandpa Dodge, and grandpa bo’t it of Elder 
Crabtree, the parson, who had the plannin’ on 
it, an’ the b’ildin’ on it, an’ who lived there till 
he died. Ole Daddy Graham owned it last; 
but he got queer spells an’ couldn’t manage 
nothin’, an’ Sabrina Ann, his wife, never will 
be hung for smartness an’ so the place has to 
be sold. 

“But, Ruth,” continued he, with a retrospec- 
tive air, “I’ve alius tho’t ’twas mighty curi’s 
how sot this hull town was on Elder Crab- 
tree. Why, if he jest tole ’em to go, they’d 


The Old Graham Place. 

go like a lot o’ sheep all follerin’ arter him; if 
he tole ’em to stop, they’d stop de’d still, right 
where they stood, an’ wouldn’t move an inch 
till he giv’ the word. The fact is, that man 
was jest sot up an’ worshipped like any golden 
calf in Bible times. But he was a mighty good 
man though — alius paid for his sugar and tea; 
sometimes, preachers fergit to do that when 
they’re rushed with too much writin’ o’ high- 
toned sermons.” 

“Only think how many different families 
have lived in the house,” exclaimed Mrs. 
Nevill. “What a dilapidated place it must 
be! Jamie is the victim of some strange in- 
fatuation to make him think for a moment of 
investing in it. He thinks it a rare bargain 
at fifteen thousand dollars; and as I view it, 
it’s a stupendous piece of fraud.” 

“Waal,” said Mr. Jones, reflectively, “I 
think myself that fifteen thousand’s enuf fur 
it, tho’ it’s jest eaten up money since the day 
*3 


/ 


The Old Graham Place. 


’twas b’ilt. Somehow it’s alius ben tore up 
fur repairs, an’ never could be made to fall 
quite right to suit all the gintry that has lived 
there. 

“Granny Dodge had some hifalutin notions, 
an’ so she went an’ had the doors all tuck off, 
an’ the passages widened into archways, an’ a 
pole with rings put up in each of ’em. On 
these poles she strung some curt’ins that was 
too much fer me, I declar’. They wus sech 
dull-cullered things I wouldn’t use ’em even 
fur hoss-blankets. She paid five hundred dol- 
lers apiece fur ’em. She said they come from 
Calcutty. When Sally Simms tuck the house, 
she done away with all the curt’in folderol 
and didn’t give the deacon a minnit’s peace 
till every ole door wus put back agin. But 
what did Widder Fox do but jest go an’ have 
them doors and casin’s all tore out agin, an’ 
go back to poles an’ curt’ins. The widder was 
great on remodellin’, an’ made a lot of changes. 
14 


The Old Graham Place. 


She tore out partitions here, and put in fan- 
dangoes there. But when the place come into 
my han’s the first thing I done wus to put the 
hull thing back, the way the elder had b’ilt it. 

“You see, Ruth,” continued he, “them old 
houses b’ilt with heavy walls an' oak founda- 
tions is boun’ to last. There's nothin' about 
'em t' git old an' nothin' can't rot 'em. But 
I’ll see Jamie soon, an’ try to talk 'im out o' 
his notion, if you feel so bad over livin' thar.” 

“Thank you, so much, Uncle Jerry,” replied 
Mrs. Nevill, who had listened with amused 
interest. And she left the store. 

Mr. James Nevill was one of the ablest 
lawyers in the State; and as a result his life 
was a very busy one. He had been called to 
a neighboring town for the day, but six o’clock, 
the dinner hour, found him in his usual place 
at the family board. 

The meal was bountiful. The china was 
dainty; the silver and glass were polished to 

*5 


The Old Graham Place. 

the last degree. All the appointments of the 
table reflected the delicate and refined taste of 
the house mistress. 

Mrs. Nevill was attired in a becoming tea- 
gown of the latest Parisian model, and her 
handsome face was radiant with youth, health 
and hope as she sat enthroned behind the coffee- 
pot, dispensing its fragrant contents. Two 
lovely children, Harry and Susie, at once the 
pride and delight of their parents, completed 
the family group. 

She was vivacious as usual, and an onlooker 
would never have detected the petty care that 
lurked behind her gaiety. Conversation drifted 
playfully here and there, but by a sort of mental 
telegraphy, the bete noir of the old Graham 
place was protected by trespass laws that would 
have done credit to King Canute. 

After dinner was over Mr. Nevill repaired 
to his office to make preparation for an ap- 
proaching trial in which he was to serve as 
16 


The Old Graham Place. 


counsel for the defendant. Mrs. Nevill, after 
her customary evening frolic with the children, 
had tenderly folded them away in their small, 
white, curtained beds and had composed her- 
self for an evening in the library. Picking up 
the Ladies' Home Journal , she glanced hastily 
over the fashion column, then tossing the paper 
aside began to work nervously at her Batten- 
burg centerpiece. 

“I do wonder/’ she thought, “whether Uncle 
Jerry will chance to see Jamie this evening. 
Bless his dear old soul ! If he does divert his 
mind from that ‘Graham place’ scheme he’ll 
deserve to be canonized, and I shall appoint 
myself a committee of one to see that his por- 
trait is illuminated. I am well aware that 
Jamie considers this purchase the chance of a 
lifetime, and I suppose it’s undignified in me 
to have any opinion whatever upon the matter ; 
but a woman instinctively shuns an old house 
as she would a drawn sword.” 

\7 


The Old Graham Place. 

She was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. 
Nevill, who had come home earlier than usual 
this evening. After a pleasant word of greet- 
ing he passed to the desk and arranged his 
papers; then seating himself by the table oppo- 
site his wife, was profoundly silent for at 
least ten minutes. Then he spoke. 

“Well, Ruth, I’ve bought the Graham place 
and I’m going to give you the deed of it for a 
birthday remembrance. It’s a wonderful bar- 
gain, no mistake,” said he, as he glanced over 
the columns of the Evening Journal which he 
had just taken from his pocket. 

Mrs. Nevill plied her work vigorously. In 
her opinion he had made the greatest mistake 
of his life. But intolerance and obduracy were 
foreign to her nature. Kindness, courtesy and 
the practical logic of Lady Macbeth, that 
“what’s done cannot be undone,” could not 
fail to support her in this crisis of her domestic 
life. Moreover above this substantial basis 
*8 


The Old Graham Place. 


of common sense played a mirthfulness that 
shot athwart the shadows of experience like 
the dancing gleams of sunshine. Ready wit 
and kindly sarcasm were weapons that she 
wielded so dextrously as to transform her de- 
feats into brilliant victories. 

Her hopes had almost broadened into visions 
of an elegant new house on the avenue, with 
all the modern improvements and charming 
architectural devices ; but a grave must be dug 
for those delightful fancies, and the varied 
resources of her infinite nature would be de- 
manded for the impending struggle. 

Not for the “price of a king’s ransom” would 
she say aught to injure the sensitive nature of 
her high-souled husband, to whom she was 
devotedly attached. But what manner of re- 
sponse could she give in sincerity to his an- 
nouncement ? 

“My mirth is a harmless force,” she said 
mentally. “It may amuse Jamie and it will 

\9 


The Old Graham Place. 

comfort me immensely. I’ll tease him just 
a trifle.” 

“So the matter is at last decided then, and I 
am to be the lady of the manor? I ought to 
be very grateful to you, Jamie, for your gen- 
erous gift, but you will have to wait until 
Christmas for your remuneration. On that 
high holiday I intend to reward you with a 
penwiper and a ten-cent oincushion, besides 
giving you over again the unworn dressing- 
gown that I gave you last Christmas.” 

“We can have possession in two months,” 
he continued, without raising his eyes from the 
paper. 

“That will afford me time to make suitable 
preparations for assuming my new dignity,” 
she replied. “I intend to fast one month at 
least, in sackcloth and ashes; for I feel as 
though I was about to set up housekeeping in 
Westminster Abbey or Canterbury cathedral. 
But you’ll be there, Jamie, to put a quietus on 
20 


The Old Graham Place. 


all perturbed spirits that chance abroad. The 
house is so spacious that you can have your 
office in your residence, you know.” 

“Your mirth is irresistible, Ruth,” said Mr. 
Nevill, with an amused smile; “but I don’t quite 
fathom your allusions. I’m sure the building 
is anything but a moss-grown ruin.” 

“Well, I’ll cease to be a sphinx — poke my 
head a little farther out of the sand-drift, and 
pro£eed with 'a round, unvarnished tale,’ ” re- 
marked Mrs. Nevill, playfully. 

“Many, many years ago that stately pile was 
a parsonage, only think of it, Jamie! It was 
built by a minister and for a minister. Every- 
body says he was the best man that ever lived. 
And I am to be his successor ! Why, the very 
walls will rebuke my pet frailties ! 

“The name of this worthy, as given in the 
genealogical records from Adam to Moses, 
was the Reverend Josiah Crabtree — a very 
sour-sounding name for so genial a person — * 
2 1 


The Old Graham Place. 


but Shakespeare says, you know, ‘A rose by 
any other name would smell as sweet.’ ” 

“But how did you obtain so much valuable 
historical matter?” inquired Mr. Nevill, with 
a peculiar smile. “Someone, evidently, has 
kindly supplied you with incorrect data. The 
agent, Mr. Graves, told me that the house had 
been built only thirty years.” 

“But Uncle Jerry lived in it himself thirty 
years ago,” Mrs. Nevill responded. “And he 
was preceded by a long and illustrious line of 
worthies extending back to the Crabtree dy- 
nasty. You see, Jamie,” she continued, “I 
knew you liked the place and, therefore, have 
spared no pains in making investigations. The 
cornerstone of that building was laid at least 
sixty years ago, with imposing ceremonies. 
Within the stone there is probably a discourse 
upon The Exploits of Gideon,’ or The True 
Story of Jonah and the Whale.’ ” 

“Can it be possible!” replied Mr. Nevill, 
22 


The Old Graham Place. 


with a troubled expression. “How those real 
estate agents do lie!” 

“Prevaricate, you mean,” his wife responded. 

The busy weeks flew by and the family were 
at last domiciled in the new home. Mrs. Ne- 
vill, with the instinct of a housekeeper, had 
previously marshalled her Amazons of the 
broom and scrubbing brush, and with the vigor 
of a Tamerlane they had penetrated its inmost 
recesses. The paperhanger and decorator 
brought up the rear. 

But she was not an iconoclast as some of her 
predecessors had been. She meant to spare 
“the old altars and images/’ she said. So very 
few changes were made in the arrangement of 
the rooms. The huge fireplaces, quaint oaken 
panellings, and all the antique carving of that 
earlier time were left inviolate. 

Partly owing to her sense of proprietorship 
and partly by reason of a certain picturesque 
23 


The Old Graham Place. 


charm that enveloped the place and appealed 
strongly to the romantic side of her nature, her 
antipathy to it became gradually mollified. 
The children loved to play under the stately 
old trees, that “were just full of bird’s nests,” 
they said. Moreover, it was her husband’s 
choice, and in view of all these considerations, 
she was very far from unhappy. 

One gloomy morning, while sitting in her 
cosy room deeply absorbed in “Quo Vadis,” 
her attention was arrested by an animated con- 
versation which proceeded from the library 
below. It was distinctly audible. Up to a 
certain point only commonplace matters, in 
which she felt no interest, had been discussed, 
when suddenly the caller, whom her husband 
addressed as Mr. Hicks, said enthusiastically: 

“This old place looks very natural. I used 
to board here when I was a student in the old 
college which at that time stood in the next 
block. That old building was struck by light- 
24 


The Old Graham Place. 


ning several years ago and burned to the 
ground ; but it will be a long time before I for- 
get the old boys and girls who studied there. ,, 

“And so you were an inmate of this house ?” 
responded Mr. Nevill with manifest interest. 

“Yes,” he continued, “I roomed in that 
northeast room at the upper stair landing. 
Elder Crabtree lived here then. His study was 
just across the hall. Bathsheba Wilder and 
Carrie Hale had the room next. Grandma 
Crabtree’s room was at the lower end of the 
hall, and just opposite roomed two young men 
whose names always provoked us to laughter 
because of their peculiar resemblance in sound. 
They were John Tompson and Tom Johnson. 
We were a jolly household and there never was 
another man like Elder Crabtree. He was a 
saint, if there ever was one. But pardon me 
for dwelling so long upon these people in whom 
you can feel no possible interest.” And he 
rose to go. 


25 


The Old Graham Place. 


“Indeed, I have the warmest interest in all 
those to whom this place has ever been home, ,, 
responded Mr. Nevill with cordiality. 

“Some day, when I am at leisure, I would 
greatly enjoy a quiet stroll about the old place, 
by way of recalling some of the boyish pranks 
of my lost youth/' said Mr. Hicks — “that is, 
if it would not annoy you." 

“Not in the least. My wife will be delighted 
to show you about at any time. But I would 
like to ask a question, if you will pardon me. 
Your wife gave her signature to that deed yes- 
terday, as Bathsheba Wilder Hicks. Now, is 
there any connection between her name and that 
of the young woman who roomed upstairs, or 
is it simply a striking coincidence?" 

“You are a lawyer, Mr. Nevill, and I will 
leave you to work up the case with the evi- 
dence at your command," said he, laughingly, 
as he passed down the walk. 

“I've been an eavesdropper from necessity, 

26 


The Old Graham Place. 


Jamie,” said Mrs. Nevill as she gaily entered 
the room where her husband was sitting. 
“Your Mr. Hicks is the sixteenth person by 
actual count who has made a pilgrimage to this 
Canterbury within the last four weeks. Every 
one of them says the same thing about the 
elder in nearly the same tone and pitch of voice 
as though he were repeating an Ave. For me, 
it has quite taken on the air of a religious ex- 
ercise — I wish you might see me in my new 
capacity as guide, Jamie. You would enjoy 
it immensely. I think I have found my proper 
sphere at last.” 

Her husband was too much absorbed in her 
narration to reply, and she continued viva- 
ciously : 

“That Tom Johnson called last week and 
begged permission to visit his old room, just 
to see if it looked as it used to. 

“I smiled and said, ‘certainly, Mr. Johnson. 


27 


The Old Graham Place. 

Pass right upstairs; you doubtless know the 
way/ 

“ 'Yes, indeed/ he replied, while he paused 
for a moment to take a general survey of the 
interior. 'Everything here reminds me of 
Elder Crabtree. He was such a good man/ 
he said, as he pulled and tugged his ponder- 
osity of two hundred and fifty pounds up the 
narrow staircase. Fearing to disturb his 
solemn reverie over the elder, I remained be- 
low. A moment after he had ascended I heard 
a sound of rushing waters, and behold! there 
was a small Niagara foaming and dashing 
down the stairs. ’Twas Biddy’s bucket of hot 
water, that she had set down 'jist fer a minnit/ 

"I rang in desperation and Biddy immedi- 
ately appeared in the doorway in speechless 
astonishment. 

" 'Look here, Biddy/ said I, leading the way 
to the scene of the disaster. 

" 'Och, the saints above ! That the loikes 

28 


The Old Graham Place. 


of Biddy O’Calligan should be contrivin' and 
schemin’ and settin’ a trap o’ b’ilin’ water for a 
dacint man to git katched in/ she ejaculated. 

“But the humiliated girl was so dexterous 
in removing all traces of the disaster that Mr. 
Johnson descended dryshod, and in blissful 
ignorance of the disaster. 

“And now it occurs to me that the gentle- 
man had a notebook and pencil and seemed to 
be writing, presumably the results of his obser- 
vations. He dropped a hint which I was to 
regard as a secret, that he was at work upon 
a biography of Elder Crabtree, but found the 
necessary data very difficult to obtain, the 
records of his birth and early life being so con- 
fused and unreliable. When the work is com- 
pleted I am to have one as a talisman. 

“Well, Ruth,” said her husband, laughing 
heartily over her recital, “I think your train 
of pilgrims must end before long.” 

“I have no such luminous prospect,” she re- 

29 


The Old Graham Place. 


plied. “On the contrary, I believe it will reach 
out to the crack of doom, like the line of 
Banquo. But there is a sort of tragi-comic 
flavor about it all that is interesting, when 
one has the right point of view. But I am 
reminded,” said she, glancing at the clock, 
“that I must go down and look after Mollie 
O’Toole, the new laundress;” and she hastily 
left the room. 

“Good-morning, Mollie,” said Mrs. Nevill, 
cheerfully, as she entered the laundry. “And 
how do you find the washing? Not too large, 
I hope? Are your eyes inflamed?” she kindly 
inquired. “They look very red.” 

“Och, shure! Mistress Nevill,” she replied, 
overcome with emotion, “it’s the wapin’ that’s 
botherin’ me eyes. I was a-thinkin’ of me auld 
mither a-washin’ Elder Crabtree’s shirts in this 
very room, an’ meself, a wee bit of a spalpeen, 
a-playin’ in the suds, an’ a-pullin’ the frath out 
wid the cat’s tail. 


30 


The Old Graham Place. 


“Now, mistress, kin you plase be after tellin’ 
me, will I bile these shirts of his honor, Mister 
Nevill. I remimber well — indade, I’m sartin’ 
sure, that me mither always biled the elder's 
shirts." 

“Do as you think best about it, Mollie. I 
will leave it all to your good judgment," re- 
sponded Mrs. Nevill, as she quitted the apart- 
ment. 

She returned to the library and after giving 
vent to her long-repressed laughter, reported 
verbatim, her recent experiences to her hus- 
band, who, with an assumed legal gravity, re- 
sponded, “Another pilgrim to Canterbury." 

ijl Jjc :jc 5jc sfj 

To the household at the Graham place the 
summer had been a long procession of happy 
days. But this brightness was soon to be over- 
shadowed. With the approach of winter Mrs. 
Nevill took a severe cold, which developed 
into a dangerous form of pneumonia. For 
3 i 


The Old Graham Place. 


many days her life was despaired of, and a 
silence almost as profound as the stillness of 
death itself pervaded the apartments. The 
mute attendants, the anxious, questioning faces 
of loved ones, told the story of suffering. 

Dr. Corbin, the family physician, had been 
unwearied in his attentions to the invalid. At 
last he came one morning and found her better. 
The crisis was past and with care and watch- 
fulness her recovery was assured. 

The pressing duties of his profession com- 
pelled him to be absent from town for a few 
days, but he could be speedily summoned in 
case of any unexpected change in her condi- 
tion. 

On his return, he lost no time in calling upon 
Mrs. Nevill, whom he found improved beyond 
his most sanguine expectations. 

She was unable to sit up, but was not 
fatigued by conversation. The doctor sat with 
her for nearly an hour; partly, to note the 
32 


The Old Graham Place. 


effect upon her of some new medicine that he 
was experimenting with, and partly to assist 
her by his cheerful conversation, in whiling 
away the lagging moments. 

The windows commanded a view of superb 
mountain scenery, which had furnished the 
theme for much of the conversation. During 
his student years abroad the vacations had been 
spent largely in touring. Several times he had 
made the ascent of the most famous Alpine 
heights, but he never forgot to sing the praises 
of his native mountains in the “Old Granite 
State.” 

For reasons best known to himself he took 
out his watch from time to time, and looked at 
it “in a professional way,” Mrs. Nevill thought. 
At last, his gaze rested upon it abstractedly, for 
some moments, while a shade of sadness 
passed over his face as he said : 

“Elder Crabtree gave me this watch. I was 
not only his physician, but we were very dear 
33 


The Old Graham Place. 


friends. I was sitting by his bedside, on the 
very spot where I am sitting now, and he was 
lying on the bed just where you are; he was 
dying, and he reached out his hand and gave 
me this watch, which has been to me a precious 
legacy, always reminding me of the giver. 
He was the best man that ever lived. Perhaps 
you have never heard that this place was once 
his home,” added he. 

“The name has a familiar sound, and I think 
I must have heard it mentioned somewhere,” 
replied Mrs. Nevill dryly, wondering if the 
ghost of that worthy would ever down. 

The physician, after prescribing a suitable 
tonic for his patient and promising an early 
call, took his departure. 

Mrs. Nevill’s recovery was rapid, and after 
a few weeks she was fully restored to her 
family and friends, to whom she was now 
doubly endeared. Graceful, accomplished and 
full of enchanting kindliness, she was the in- 
34 


The Old Graham Place. 


spiration of every social circle in which she 
moved. Her sparkling jests and the music 
of her laughter were able to unify the most un- 
congenial company. 

The afternoon on which she was to enter- 
tain “The Guild” had arrived. Two of the 
members, who had preceded the others by some 
moments, were already in the parlor when Mrs. 
Nevill entered. 

After the usual salutations, Mrs. Clark, who 
was something of an artist, remarked enthu- 
siastically : 

“I must congratulate you, Mrs. Nevill, on 
the appearance of your parlor. The color 
scheme is perfect, and the decorations and fur- 
nishings have a quaint and picturesque effect 
that is refreshing in this age of the enthrone- 
ment of the commonplace.” 

“Thank you for liking it,” replied the host- 
ess. “The old house was very distasteful to 
me at first, for many reasons, but it lends itself 
35 


I 


The Old Graham Place. 

so effectively to the antique that many of my 
former prejudices have been overcome.” Then 
(thinking she’d be the pilgrim herself and 
lead off with the elder) she continued humor- 
ously : “You may be aware that the house has 
a patron saint in addition to its other romantic 
attractions. Scott’s ‘White Lady of Avenel’ 
has a formidable rival in the modern shade of 
‘The Reverend Josiah Crabtree.’ This was his 
former home, and his memory seems to be 
deeply revered by all who knew him.” 

“That brings to mind an incident of my 
childhood,” remarked the second lady, Mrs. 
Ralph. “It comes to me with intense vivid- 
ness at this moment — the day following the 
death of that minister, my father, who knew 
him well, called to pay a visit of condolence and 
brought me with him. His casket was placed 
just across that corner where you have the 
exquisite teakwood screen. He was dressed 
in his usual clerical suit, and his face wore a 
36 


The Old Graham Place. 


calm and untroubled expression, as though he 
had really entered a land of rest.” 

The lady’s pathetic narration was brought 
to a close by the entrance of the other mem- 
bers, and Mrs. Nevill directed the current of 
small-talk into more agreeable channels, while 
deft fingers plied the needle for sweet charity’s 
sake. At the usual hour, a delicate repast was 
served, when, after arranging preliminaries for 
the next meeting, the guests departed. 

“Now I shall have another Scheherezade 
tale to relate to Jamie to-night,” soliloquized 
Mrs. Nevill. “I hope he will find as much 
interest in it as he manifested in my rehearsal 
of Dr. Corbin.” 

The following morning as Mrs. Nevill, with 
her elbows on the windowsill looked out upon 
the pleasant lawn, the robins and the dande- 
lions told her that spring had come. Harry 
and Susie were romping with Carlo, and on 


37 


The Old Graham Place. 


seeing their mother, clamored loudly for her 
to join them. 

No sooner had she reached the lawn, when, 
looking in the direction of the garden, she saw 
Uncle Tommy, the old gardener, pick up his 
spade and commence to dig vigorously. 

Mrs. Nevill crossed over and paused near 
him. “Well, Uncle Tommy,” said she, cheer- 
fully, “you go about your work as if you en- 
joyed it.” 

“Yis, missis,” he responded, “I 'ope I hain't 
lazy.” 

“How does the soil seem to be?” she in- 
quired, with interest. “You see, I have a 
package of fancy mixed seeds, besides my 
‘Giant pansies' and ‘Chinese chrysanthemums' 
to sow. Then my ‘Gold-medal rose' must be 
transplanted; and I want them all to be a suc- 
cess.” 

“Well, missis, to tell you the truth,” he 
sagely replied, “I think as 'eow this here gar- 

38 


The Old Graham Place. 


din’ needs henrichin’. I was just a-thinkin\ 
missis,” continued he, pathetically, as he rested 
upon his spade, “as ’eow I ’elped my brother 
work this here garden when Helder Crabtree 
lived ’ere. I remember ’eow it stormed the day 
we dug ’is grave. Hit makes my ’eart hache to 
think of them days. ’E was such a good 
man!” and he brushed away the falling tears 
with the sleeve of his blouse, and resumed his 
work. 

“I can well understand how the thought of 
an old friend should make you sad, Uncle 
Tommy,” said Mrs. Nevill, feelingly. “And 
as to the garden — if you think the soil is poor, 
you may order a load of fertilizer brought this 
afternoon.” And taking up her old refrain, 
“Another pilgrim to Canterbury,” she rejoined 
the children in time to assist in making a 
wreath of dandelion blossoms for Carlo’s neck. 

That evening Mrs. Nevill was greatly sur- 
prised to receive a note from Mrs. Corbin, re- 
39 


The Old Graham Place. 

questing her to call on the morrow, in honor 
of her guest, who was none other than Mrs. 
Crabtree, her old-time friend. She added that 
her coming was very unexpected, and her stay 
would be brief. She was advanced in years, 
and seldom traveled; but her heart so yearned 
for the home of her youthful love that she ven- 
tured to make the long journey. 

Ruth, with emphatic silence, passed the note 
to her husband. 

“ Why, that seems strange ! I did not know 
that the old lady was alive. And how roman- 
tic, for a person of her years ! It strengthens 
one's faith in the sentiment that ‘there’s no love 
like the old love,’ remarked he, soberly. “Of 
course we must call at once.” 

“The sooner the better,” replied Ruth, who 
had just finished her recital of “Tommy the 
Hinglishman,” as the letter came. 

“I’m ready and waiting for a new situation. 
Do you observe, Jamie, how I am entangled 
40 


The Old Graham Place. 


in the web of all this passion movement?” she 
inquired. “It seems as though the matter was 
leading up to some sort of a frightful climax. 
I’m constantly on the lookout for the third act ; 
but I shall leave it for you to gather up the 
threads at the close.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Nevill made the intended call 
and were delighted with Mrs. Crabtree. Any 
one would have called her a beautiful old lady. 
She was twenty years younger than her hus- 
band, and had no obvious physical infirmity 
except defective vision. The most skillful op- 
tician could not help her to distinguish faces 
clearly. She declined Mrs. Nevill’s invitation 
to spend the day ; but her promise to call on the 
following morning was punctually observed. 

It was most pathetic to observe her as she 
took this parting glance at her bridal home. 
What sacred and tender dreams she had treas- 
ured up from those peaceful buried years! 

“Ah, Mrs. Nevill,” said she, “you do not 
4* 


The Old Graham Place. 


know what a privilege you bestow upon me! 
This is indeed holy ground, for his dear feet 
have trodden every inch of it. To me, it is a 
real ‘via sacra ! Just at this gate is where I 
always met him as he came from the market 
or postoffice. Those trees, under which your 
children play, were planted by him. Ah, how 
well I remember the time ! Here in the shadow 
of the house was a rustic seat where we used 
to sit at the close of the warm summer days 
and watch the yellow sunsets. 

“That was long ago, and yet, it seems but 
yesterday,” she said, pressing Mrs. Nevill’s 
hand. “You’ve made some changes — but be- 
yond them all I catch the vision beautiful of 
my heart’s home as it used to be.” 

She had been very calm ; but now she turned 
toward her hostess with moistened eyes and 
said, feelingly: “Mrs. Nevill, this place doesn’t 
belong to you at all. It’s all, all mine.” 

“I believe it,” responded Ruth with emotion, 
42 


The Old Graham Place. 


They passed into the house, and Mrs. Crab- 
tree went alone to the room that was once her 
husband’s study, where she remained more than 
an hour. When she came down, Mrs. Nevill 
met her in the doorway and kindly invited her 
to a seat in the library, which she accepted. 
Her memory was unusually active, and she 
delighted to revert to the incidents connected 
with her early life; but she recalled with pain 
her husband’s unhappiness over the loss of 
some important documents relating to his own 
family history. Their disappearance was very 
mysterious. The housemaid, while putting the 
room in order on a very windy day, had opened 
the study windows and the inference was that 
they had blown away. An old friend was as- 
sisting her with some “memoirs” of her hus- 
band, which she hoped some day to publish, 
but feared the book would be sadly lacking in 
biographical unity. 

After partaking of a tempting lunch which 

43 


The Old Graham Place. 


Mrs. Nevill served from her five o’clock tea- 
table, her guest took an affectionate leave. 

The next evening accompanied by Dr. Cor- 
bin, she made her final call before returning 
to her home. The doctor’s visit was a sur- 
prise to them, as being now somewhat aged, he 
seldom entered a neighbor’s house except pro- 
fessionally. When the call was ended, and 
they rose to go, he passed out, as if by chance, 
through the arched doorway leading to what 
was now the back parlor, but which was de- 
signed and used by its builder as a bedroom. 
He commented upon the various changes that 
had been made from time to time, pointing 
them out to Mrs. Crabtree as they lingered. 
At length, she grasped his hand, and they stood 
as if transfixed, with gaze directed to the same 
point. There was no visible emotion, but a 
silence that was sadly vocal. As if to break 
the spell, she went to the window and looked 
out upon a scene of unrivaled splendor. 

44 


The Old Graham Place. 


“Ah,” said she, mournfully, “the same moun- 
tains and the same moonlight ! No change can 
ever touch them.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Nevill seemed politely unob- 
servant of the movements of their guests, who 
soon departed, leaving them to their own seri- 
ous reflections. 

“What a lovely person Mrs. Crabtree is!” 
Mr. Nevill remarked, after a few minutes’ 
silence. 

“Yes,” replied his wife, “and she is a verit- 
able pilgrim, ‘with staff and sandal shoon.’ 
She lives only in the remembrance of her past 
life with her husband, whom she seems to wor- 
ship as a divinity. I think I comprehend why 
they paused so solemnly, after reaching a cer- 
tain place in the back parlor — the past was un- 
rolled before them, and they were standing to- 
gether as they stood long years ago beside the 
deathbed of her husband. The plan was pre- 
arranged — the tryst was kept by both, and all 
45 


The Old Graham Place. 


the details proceeded according to the highest 
ideals of romantic fiction.” 

“Did he die in that room?” inquired Mr. 
Nevill. 

“Is it possible you can have forgotten my 
most brilliant effort — my Dr. Corbin evening?” 
replied she, dramatically. “But, Jamie, she 
added, “Fm growing serious. The old asso- 
ciations of the place have seemed a sort of 
weird joke until now; but my mirth breaks 
down in the presence of Mrs. Crabtree. Were 
I to laugh at her, I should expect to be smitten 
with blindness.” Then Ruth gave her hus- 
band an account of that lady’s earlier call. 
Thus he was in some measure prepared to 
sympathize with her present mood. 

The next day Mr. Nevill had business in the 
country, and invited his wife to accompany 
him. 

“The ride will enliven me,” she said, “and 


46 


The Old Graham Place. 

the Graveses will be a tonic to my jaded 
spirits.” 

The place was a delightful villa, nestled in 
among the emerald hills, and surrounded by 
protecting trees. They sat on the broad 
veranda and chatted gaily with the care-free 
youths and maidens of the family until sum- 
moned to a bountiful dinner, to which they did 
ample justice. 

The afternoon was spent in the parlor, where 
huge portfolios of rare, artist-proof engrav- 
ings and foreign photographs were at their 
disposal. Upon the walls were many choice 
paintings, which gave evidence of the wealth 
and culture of the family. Among them, 
hanging over the mantelpiece was a Stuart 
portrait of Washington. In a small niche at 
the side hung a very old daguerreotype, in an 
oval frame of a lady and gentleman. Both 
the faces were striking and intellectual, pos- 
sessing distinct individuality. 

47 


The Old Graham Place. 


Mrs. Nevill was attracted to them at once. 

“Who are these lovely people?” she inquired 
of her hostess, who was standing near. “I’ve 
been telling Jamie that the gentleman resembles 
him.” 

Mrs. Graves glanced from the picture to 
Mr. Nevill, exclaiming: “The resemblance is 
indeed striking! How strange!” 

“I ought to feel highly complimented,” her 
husband replied. “You see, Mrs. Graves, my 
wife thinks every handsome man looks ex- 
actly like me.” 

“They are the pictures of our former pastor 
and his wife, the Reverend and Mrs. Crabtree. 
They were taken years ago. I never knew so 
good a man. He built the house where you 
reside, as you may have heard.” 

“Yes,” responded Mr. Nevill, “it has been 
frequently referred to. By his goodness he 
seems to have earned an earthly immortality.” 

“She has changed so much since this pic- 
48 


The Old Graham Place. 


ture was taken that I did not recognize it; but 
knowing it to be a likeness of the youthful 
Mrs. Crabtree, I can trace points of resem- 
blance between it and the beautiful original 
whose acquaintance I made during her late 
visit at Dr. Corbin’s,” remarked Mrs. Nevill. 

“But there is the carriage, Jamie,” said she, 
turning to the window, “and the horses are 
dancing and pawing the ground, to be off.” 

And so after many expressions of genuine 
thankfulness to their friends for the pleasure 
the visit had afforded them, they took their 
leave. 

“What delightful people those friends of 
yours are!” said Ruth, as they were driving 
along. “But alas, they too, are pilgrims. I 
suppose if I were to make a voyage to China 
the first pig-tailed Celestial that greeted me in 
Pekin would be a devotee at the same well- 
worn shrine. It is growing very lugubrious, ,, 
continued she, with sad humor. 

49 


The Old Graham Place. 


“The situation is indeed peculiar,” replied 
her husband, “and I begin to appreciate its 
humorous side. But we are going to meet Dr. 
Corbin. That’s surely his horse. He visits 
a patient living on this road.” 

The doctor stopped a moment in passing. 
He seemed greatly depressed. But the mes- 
sage that he delivered explained all. Mrs. 
Crabtree was dead. She expired suddenly, 
while sitting in her chair, a few days after 
reaching home. Being the unconscious victim 
of heart disease, her death was doubtless has- 
tened by the excitement of her recent visit 
in L . 

She was greatly beloved by both Mr. and 
Mrs. Nevill, though their acquaintance had 
been brief, and this sudden announcement filled 
them with sincere grief. 

* * * * * 

“Oh, mamma!” cried little Susie, bounding 
into the library where her parents were seated, 
50 


The Old Graham Place. 


“do see what the man gave me;” and she hand- 
ed her mother some folded papers. 

“What man, darling ?” inquired Mrs. Nevill. 

“The carpenter, mamma. You know he’s 
working up in the north closet. He found 
that behind the case that he took out of the 
wall. He said, ‘he thought ’twas something 
my mamma ought to have,’ and so I brought it 
right down to you.” And she sped so quickly 
back to her play that she lost even the faintest 
echo of her mother’s thanks. 

“What new mystery have we on our hands 
now,” remarked Ruth, peering curiously at the 
papers in her lap. “It’s probably something 
that has found its way through the small 
aperture at the top of the case, and but for my 
trifling repairs, would have remained forever 
engulfed in the waters of oblivion.” 

“Judging by its nibbled appearance, one 
would infer that ‘the waters of oblivion’ had a 


5t 


The Old Graham Place. 

successful rival near at hand,” Mr. Nevill re- 
sponded. 

The package contained only two documents, 
tied together with a piece of thread. Mrs. 
Nevill glanced at the heading of the first one — 
“A Discourse on the Prodigal Son.” 

“Elder Crabtree’s sermons, as I live!” she 
ejaculated, “I shall despair! You may de- 
cipher this one, Jamie,” said she, passing him 
the remaining paper. 

He slowly unfolded the document, which 
was so time-worn and mouse-eaten as to be 
almost illegible. It ran thus: 

“Family Record. — For those who may 
come after me. My father’s name was Jona- 
than Crabtree; my mother’s Julia Neville. 
(The family, later, dropped the final vowel and 
transferred the accent to the first sylla- 
ble) ” 

“That would make it Nevill,” remarked the 
52 


The Old Graham Place. 


husband, in breathless surprise. “But it can’t 
possibly be Aunt Julia!” And he again ap- 
plied his powerful reading-glass to the muti- 
lated paper. 

“My parents were married in England and 
embarked to the South Sea Islands, with 
friends who went as missionaries. When I 
was but two years old, they both died of malig- 
nant fever. Then I was adopted by a wealthy 
gentleman and his wife, who sent me to Eng- 
land for my education. After their death, I 
came to America, and settled in New Hamp- 
shire, in the hope of finding some trace of my 
mother’s only brother, Robert Neville; and 
also, to do such work for the Master as ” 


It was impossible to trace another word; 
but the signature, “Reverend Josiah Crabtree” 
stood out, bold and black, as if in defiance of 
the law of change. 


53 


The Old Graham Place. 

“Robert Nevill! my own father!” the hus- 
band exclaimed with deep emotion. “And his 
mother was none other than dear Aunt Julia ! 
How it would have rejoiced my dear father’s 
heart to have discovered any trace of her, after 
all his years of diligent search. All the let- 
ters of both were lost, and he grieved over it 
so deeply that at last, he avoided all mention of 
her. He must have known her husband’s 
name, but I cannot recall any reference to it 
by him,” he feelingly continued. 

After this amazing disclosure, Mrs. Nevill 
seemed profoundly thoughtful, and her hus- 
band sat for some moments, as one in a trance. 

“Well, Ruth,” he said, recovering himself 
at last, “we have verified the adage that ‘truth 
is stranger than fiction/ I don’t know how it 
strikes you, but it seems to me, judging from 
a legal standpoint, that recent developments 
demand a treaty of amity between you and 
your patron saint.” 


54 


The Old Graham Place. 

“The matter is already adjusted,” she re- 
plied, with a grave smile. “I have adopted 
‘the Ghost/ ” 

L.cfC. 


THE END. 


55 


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